07/13/2025
If you’ve been here with me for a while, you’ve likely felt it;
the shift in my voice, the deeper pulse behind my words.
More poetic.
More mythic.
More sacred.
This isn’t a practice of rebranding. It’s been an initiation of Self.
2025 has been a year that has cracked me open personally, creatively, spiritually.
A year that asked me to release the last hidden places within me and to let go of any impulse to create for validation or attention.
A year that reminded me that this work — these words, these spaces — are not just content.
They are portals. Unique, interconnected portals to walk through:
the breathwork, the sound, the coaching, the podcast, the oracle deck, the reflections.
Each one designed to guide you not somewhere new, but somewhere ancient inside you. A place you may have forgotten, but never lost.
I know that some of the language I use, such as: Sovereign, Sacred, Reclamation, Temple, might feel unusual or even provocative.
And I get it, I understand.
I grew up inside systems of conservatism and religion, taught to fear what could not be named, to revere only what was sanctioned.
But I was also raised on Tolkien and Lewis.
On worlds filled with magic, myth, and meaning.
I have always loved the liminal, the in-between, the stories where people rise from ruin and remember who they are.
So the words you see now are not decoration.
They are deliberate.
They are anchors.
They are maps.
Sovereign
For many of us, the word Sovereign conjures images of rulers and thrones.
Of kings and queens, religious icons and monarchs.
Figures we were taught to worship, to obey, to please for fear of punishment or exile.
We learned to look up for permission, to beg for worthiness, to measure ourselves against their decrees.
But sovereignty, in its truest form, has nothing to do with hierarchy.
It is not power over.
It is the quiet, steady knowing that you belong to yourself.
First and foremost.
Always.
It is the birthright too often handed away,
the crown you were born wearing.
Not to dominate others, but to guide your own life with devotion.
To your truth.
To your rhythms.
To the voice inside that does not need approval to be real.
This is what I mean when I say Sovereign.
Not a title.
Not an external throne.
But the unshakable place within you that no one can claim but you.
Sacred
For many, the word Sacred feels reserved for cathedrals and ceremonies, rituals sanctioned by institutions, and things deemed holy by someone in authority.
But to me, sacred is not religious.
It is spiritual.
It is the knowing that something deserves protection, honor, and respect simply because it exists.
Sacred is not a distant altar you must be worthy to approach.
It is the miracle of your own breath.
The fact that your heart still beats, even after all you’ve survived.
The quiet truth that your body carries stories no scripture could ever contain.
Sacred is the sense that something is elevated.
Set apart.
Worthy of reverence not because it was declared so, but because it simply is.
And what could be more sacred than your own true self?
Your mind, your body, your heart, your soul—the unrepeatable constellation of your being.
Sacred is not just a thing.
It is a belief.
A way of seeing.
A place inside you worthy of active reverence.
The holiness of being here.
Still alive.
Still rising.
This is what I mean when I say Sacred.
Reclamation
For many, reclamation sounds like self-improvement.
As if a project to become better.
But to me, it is not about fixing.
It is a sacred remembering, not a task.
It is like returning to a garden overgrown with time, or uncovering an heirloom buried beneath the dust of forgetting.
Reclamation is the return.
Not to who others wanted you to be, but to who you were before the silencing.
Before the dimming.
Before the forgetting.
This isn’t about becoming new.
It’s about remembering what was always yours:
your voice, your rage, your radiance, your joy.
Temple
The word Temple can feel heavy with centuries of expectation.
A place built to impress, to showcase the power and grandeur of a ruler or a deity.
A structure meant to inspire awe, but also to remind the common person they were lesser, unworthy without permission, required to perform or grovel for forgiveness and belonging.
But to me, a temple is not a monument to someone else’s greatness.
It is the quiet, living space within you that no doctrine can define.
A place you do not need to earn.
Your temple is not a hall you must enter on your knees.
It is the inheritance you carry in your very cells.
It is the memory of your own sacredness.
It is the great hall in your chest that holds your knowing.
Your memory.
Your fire.
It does not require an offering.
It does not demand perfection.
It does not measure your devotion in guilt and shame.
And yes, your temple may be in ruins.
It may be overgrown.
It may be waiting.
Because life has a way of making us forget it is there.
Forgetting to tend it.
Forgetting to return.
Forgetting that it is our birthright to rule ourselves.
But it is still yours.
It is the space where you meet your own spirit, without pretense or performance.
Where reverence is not about worshipping something outside you, but honoring what lives within.
This is what I mean when I say Temple.
Not a place to be conquered.
Not a sanctuary to be earned.
But the birthright of your own belonging.
Every offering I create from a podcast episode to a breathwork journey, from an oracle card to a quiet word...is an invitation.
Not to fix you.
Not to make you more palatable.
But to remind you:
You are not broken.
You are sovereign.
You are sacred.
You are the temple.
And I am simply here to hold the lantern and walk alongside you,
as you remember your way home.
~John
